The Particularly Difficult Night
by Beringae
Summary: And then the Arch Nemesis of Harry Potter rushed at The Brains of the Golden Trio and kissed her. Hard. On the mouth. Like in the movies, only not. [A total attack of random insanity. Have fun!]
1. The Plan

**I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter.**

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"_**We don't know what we want, but we are ready to bite somebody to get it."**_

_**-- Will Rogers**_

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"This is rubbish."

Harry Potter, often referred to as The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Savior of Wizardkind, Patronus-Caster Extraordinaire, The Second One He Ever Feared, and/or Scar-face, gave an immense groan and in his annoyingly frustrating frustration promptly turned one of the squishy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room into a parakeet. Unfortunately, the particular armchair he chose to demonstrate this impressive bit of transfiguration with happened to be the one he was sitting on. Or had been sitting on, until he fell to the floor with a burst of yellow feathers and a squawk of indignation from the squashed bird.

Harry could tell it was going to be a very long night.

Hermione Granger, often referred to as The Brains of the Golden Trio, ignored his antics completely in a remarkable feat of self-control—she didn't even crack a smile. "This is rubbish, Harry," she repeated, jabbing her wand at his History of Magic essay.

Harry, having picked himself up off of the floor, was busy gazing dejectedly at the rather compressed parakeet at his feet. Sighing, he conjured up a tiny coffin for the tiny corpse and levitated it into the fire for a fittingly tiny burial service. After checking to make sure that he wasn't about to squish anything else, he sat on a different chair.

"Well I don't blame it for being rubbish, actually. If I were a History of Magic essay on a topic as ludicrous and dull as the drawn-out evolution of the Goblin banking system I would be highly tempted to end up as rubbish, too," said Scar-face—er, Harry, as he magicked the remaining feathers, all that was left of the short-suffering parakeet, into the blazing fire.

Ron Weasley, often referred to as… well, Ron wasn't usually referred to as anything besides "Ron," lamentably, snorted from his seat by The Brains of the Golden Trio. "He's right, Hermione. Binns has reached new levels of boring subject matter. Suicide inducing, in fact."

Hermione knew that this was true. She may have been The Brains of the Golden Trio and notorious for enjoying all types and categories of schoolwork, but she was not so high-and-mighty as to try and refute what she knew could not possibly be refuted.

Yes, the drawn-out evolution of the Goblin banking system was indeed boring. Suicide inducing, in fact.

Just then, rescue from the tedious predicament of the drawn-out evolution of the Goblin banking system came in the form of a distraction. Two distractions, actually, each with a distracting shock of distractingly red hair and a rather distracting way of leaving intensely amusing (and distracting) pranks in their wake. All in all, Fred and George Weasley, often referred to as Gred and Forge, the two most successful pranksters in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were very distracting people.

"Hullo, ickle Ronnikins!" said Fred—or perhaps George, as no one could quite tell the difference—as he slung his arm over his younger brother's shoulders. Ron, now often referred to as ickle Ronnikins, grimaced.

"Care for a treat?" asked George. He produced a rather harmless looking pastry, holding it out in the palm of his hand for all to see.

Every single person within a ten-foot radius scooted back in his or her seat at least four inches.

"No?" Said Fred.

"Shame, that is."

"We made them ourselves."

"Took a lot of work."

"Up all night, weren't we, Forge?"

"Yes, Gred. We are deeply aggrieved that in such fine company no one is willing to taste our lovely pastry."

"Insulted!"

"Disgusted!"

"Appalled!"

"Aghast!"

"Dismay—"

"ALL RIGHT!" shouted Neville Longbottom, often referred to as The One Who Was Almost The-Boy-Who-Lived. He simply could not take the racket anymore, and it was making his Mimbulus Mimbletonia very fussy. "I'll try your bloody pastry!"

Two equally wicked grins spread over the otherwise innocent-looking faces of both Gred and Forge.

Harry watched the blood drain from Neville's face as he realized what he had just volunteered for. The twins were very persuasive people and eventually, despite his protests, The One Who Was Almost The-Boy-Who-Lived took the tiniest nibble off the edge of the pastry and very quickly proceeded to sprout large scales that completely covered his arms and legs. Fortunately everyone was quite used to these sorts of happenings when the two most successful pranksters in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were present, so no one spared much time gawking and thus had more time to complete their homework assignments. No one paid much attention to poor Neville, either, and he was left to wallow alone in all of his scaly glory.

The Golden Trio gazed at Neville briefly with faint frowns on their faces, but soon Hermione, the official slave-driver of the Gryffindor common room, gave a great sigh and insisted that they get back to work. "Well, if you two aren't interested in your essays, at least we should try to work on…you know…_The Plan_," she whispered, glancing furtively around the room as she rifled through an immense pile of parchment sheets.

"_The Plan?_" asked ickle Ronnikins.

"Yes, _The Plan. _Ah, yes, here it is." She produced a large sheet of blank parchment and laid it on the table that the three of them were sitting around.

They looked. They pondered. And they looked again.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows.

Hermione bit her lip.

Neville slithered.

Harry made a very confused sound. "Is this really all we've come up with so far?"

"Well, seeing as I've had absolutely _no_ help from you _both_, I should think I've done rather well!" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing.

Ron sputtered. "But…But it's _The Plan!_ We're _The Golden Trio_! We're supposed to be _good at this!_"

Hermione suddenly burst into tears—this was quite a regular occurrence, so Harry and Ron weren't overly concerned—and stood up as if to leave. "Well, I'm _sorry_ if I can't be absolutely perfect! I may be The Brains of the Golden Trio, but I can't do everything! I'm under a lot of stress! With exams and everything coming up, it's…"

And then something happened that no one had _ever_ thought could happen. _Ever._

Draco Malfoy, often referred to as The King of Slytherin, Arch-Nemesis of Harry Potter, The Slytherin Sex-God, and/or Ferret-boy, climbed through the portrait hole and entered the Gryffindor common room. Draco Malfoy was in the Gryffindor common room.

Draco. Malfoy. Was. In. _The bloody GRYFFINDOR common room._

"OY! How'd you get—"

But The King of Slytherin was not paying attention. His hair, slicked back on his head, looked like a white-blond motorcycle helmet. His chin,a bit stubbly and rather pointy, was set firmly in determination. His skin, pale as a fish's underbelly and just as soft, was glowing alarmingly whitein the dim light of the room. His eyes, gray like the majority of the other gray things in the world, were riveted on one person.

"I CAN'T BLOODY _TAKE IT_ ANYMORE, GRANGER!"

And then the Arch-Nemesis of Harry Potter rushed at The Brains of the Golden Trio and kissed her. Hard. On the mouth. Like in the movies, only not.

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"_**This is like déjà vu all over again."**_

_**-- Lawrence "Yogi" Berra**_

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**Author's Note**: Wow… this is completely and utterly silly. Yay for randomness! My first attempt at real humor… cringes I have no idea what the reaction to this is going to be, so lemme have it.

No, of course this is not over. There are at least several more chapters to go, I'm afraid. The torture is not over yet! Mwahahaha…

Oh, this is so much fun.

If youhadn't guessed,I am making fun of D/Hr fics in this chapter. It's all in good fun; I for one adore D/Hr fics and am planning to write one in the near future. (I hear you all snorting a "Ha. Good luck with that one," in the background. I HEAR YOU, DAMNIT!)

Note the first line of this fic, not counting the quote. 'Nuff said.

Also, if you enjoyed this (maybe?) check out my other HP fics, "The Third Law" and "Counting." They are both completely different from this and each other, but whatever. Knock yourselves out.

Thanks for reading!


	2. They're Migrating

"_**There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."**_

_**-- Oscar Levant (1906 - 1972)**_

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Silence.

Well, silence except for the moaning.

Most everyone began to blush. Draco Malfoy's hands were…adventurous.

Finally Ron summed up the thoughts of every person in the room with one question: "What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know…" ventured Harry, crouching down to peer at the pair as if they were mating pandas in a zoo. "Wow…They're really going at it, aren't they?"

"What I'd like to know," began Colin Creevy between snapping pictures (after all, it was good stuff, this), "is how he got in here."

"Yeah! How'd he know the password?" posed Lavender Brown, eyeing Ron and licking her lips slowly, all the while trying to maintain an air of indifference. It wasn't really working.

"He had 'em!" Came a voice from the fat lady's portrait, sounding remarkably like a female version of a certain medieval knight. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

"BLOODY HELL, NEVILLE!" Shouted half of the occupants of the room. Poor Neville was having a particularly difficult night, what with the scales and all.

"I-I'm sorry?" He said, his face thoroughly crimson, as he scratched at his arms. Several scales winked in the firelight as they fell to the floor.

"Oh good! You _do_ end up shedding, after all! We weren't sure," exclaimed either Fred or George.

Neville whimpered. And slithered.

Ron looked at Harry. Harry looked at Ron. In the end, they simultaneously said something akin to "Shouldn't we be a little more upset that our Arch-Nemesis is kissing Hermione?" and leveled their wands at their pointy-featured, blond-haired, pale-skinned dilemma.

"Malfoy!"

Nothing happened. Except for the moaning, of course.

"Ferret-Boy!"

…

"Ferret-Boy?"

"What?" said Ferret-Boy, finally pulling away from Hermione, his cheeks decidedly flushed. Hermione looked rather dazed and was grinning as stupidly as anyone had ever seen her grin, which was never, because Hermione never grinned stupidly. If that makes sense, which it probably doesn't.

Right. On with the story.

"Get away from Hermione!" said both Ron and Harry.

"Why?" asked both Hermione and Draco.

"Because you two are disgusting! What ever happened to Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry?" exclaimed both Patronus-Caster Extraordinaire and ickle Ronnikins.

"It's officially abolished," stated both… well, you know. They promptly went back to kissing. Well, eating one another's faces, more like.

More silence. It was getting rather annoying, actually.

"Well!" shouted Gred, clapping his hands and causing everyone in the vicinity to jump a foot in the air. "That's good news, then! Anyone else for another pastry?"

"We're 85 sure that the feathers will molt and the hair will grow back. Eventually," added Forge.

Ginny Weasley, often referred to as The Gorgeous Gryffindor among other less respectable titles, rolled her eyes and smacked her two twinish brothers upside the head. She was extremely perturbed with them, as they had interrupted her nightly routine of staring admiringly and somewhat lustily at Harry. "Shut up, you two."

Harry and Ron, oblivious, soon turned to one another again to resume their discussion about… _The Plan._

"This is pathetic, really. I'm the _Boy-Who-Lived_. I'm supposed to know instinctively how to defeat Voldemort, aren't I? Maybe if I—"

"Don't say that name, Harry!" shouted Ron in a rather panicked tone. His nose had begun to bleed and he was attempting to stem the flow with the hem of Hermione's robe. She didn't seem to notice. "It has…bad…effects!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, smiling cheerfully as he perused the room to enjoy the various "bad" effects he had caused.

"DON'T SAY THE BLOODY NAME!"

Neville had collapsed in a scaly heap on the floor. Lavender shrieked and dove at Ron—Harry very much doubted that this was one of said effects, but he chose to give her the benefit of the doubt—just before fainting dead away in his arms. Ron dropped her and plugged his nose between his thumb and forefinger, but not before a spurt of blood managed to shoot from his nostrils. Ginny curled into a tight ball on the floor and pressed her folded arms against her abdomen as a particularly nasty and somewhat curious case of menstrual cramps made their presence known. Colin only just made it to the rubbish bin in time to empty his stomach of his dinner. The twins swooned with a sudden onslaught of high fever. Parvati groaned. Seamus oozed. Angelina sobbed. Denis twitched. Neville slithered. Again.

Oddly, the only two people in the room who the exclamation of Voldemort's name seemed to have no effect on besides Harry were Ferret-Boy and The Brains of the Golden Trio. Of course, they were rather busy.

Harry smiled again as he took in the destruction. He knew from experience that it would take several minutes for everyone to recover, and so he decided to lie down by the fire and have a nap.

It didn't last long.

"Harry, mate, I told you to _never_ do that again," came the frustrated voice of Ron. Harry cracked open his eyes to see his friend mopping the blood off of his chin with Draco's clothing. The unlikely couple, still snogging furiously on the couch, had discarded their outer robes quite some time ago.

"I won't, I promise," Harry singsonged unconvincingly. "Let's go for a walk. C'mon, get Hermione."

The two boys literally dragged—by her feet, no less; they tried grasping her round the waist but she could be very slippery when the situation called for it—their flushed companion away from their flushed arch enemy and climbed out the portrait hole.

Harry ignored the fact that half of the Gryffindor common room had followed them (he _was_ a celebrity after all) and propositioned that they visit Hagrid. His friends readily acquiesced, albeit with much pouting and moping on Hermione's part. She soon forgot her pouting and moping and told them the story of her and The Slythern Sex-God's unlikely romance.

Harry and Ron tried not to sick on their shoes throughout her breathless explanation. It was very difficult. Very.

"If you _really_ want to know, he—"

"WE DON'T, HERMIONE!"

"—he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage! He's very tortured, you know. His father's really hard on him and all he needs is a bit of love…" she trailed off dreamily, oblivious to the smears of lipstick about her face. The funny thing was, Hermione didn't wear lipstick. Curious. Maybe Ferret-Boy did.

Ron glanced at Harry. Harry glanced at Ron. It was a regular occurrence. "You're…you're sure you're talking about Malfoy, Hermione?" Ron asked. He looked rather sulky.

"Of course. Why?"

"Nevermind."

Hermione seemed satisfied with that, and soon began humming a muggle tune Harry recognized as "All You Need Is Love" in a manner not unlike that of Loony—er, Luna Lovegood. Speaking of…

"Hello, Harry, Ronald. Hello, Hermione. Have you seen any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks lately? They're migrating."

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"_**Ducking for apples - change one letter and it's the story of my life."**_

_**-- Dorothy Parker**_

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**Author's Note**: It just keeps getting weirder and weirder, doesn't it? Hermione and Draco, the abolition of the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, Hermione's hippy side revealed, the magical properties of Lord Voldemort's name, and migrating Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. What fun.

As always, I adore you, and let me know what you think.


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